


only fools rush in

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Dancing, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 01:32:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: Foggy Nelson has one rule: do not fall for a member of the wedding party. Not the bride, not the groom, not the flirty bridesmaid who keeps winking at him during the rehearsal dinner. It’s a matter of professionalism. It’s also a matter of making sure that he gets paid what he’s owed, with no sex scandal interfering.If he had a second rule, it would be no sex scandals.The rule was never all that hard to follow, because weddings tend to bring out the worst in people, and he’s immune to the wedding terror that makes you want to hook up with the next person you see. The only problem came with the introduction of Matthew Michael Murdock, handsomest boy in the city and professional costumed weirdo with a smile that could knock a guy out if he wasn’t careful with it.Foggy knew from the second he saw that smile that he was in big trouble.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "WHY, CHELSEA," YOU MIGHT SAY, "ANOTHER WIP? ARE YOU SURE?" 
> 
> "NO," I WOULD REPLY. 
> 
> AND HERE WE ARE.
> 
> (eta: i've had some technical difficulties because i apparently copy and pasted twice and everything went to hell)

Foggy Nelson has one rule: do not fall for a member of the wedding party. Not the bride, not the groom, not the flirty bridesmaid who keeps winking at him during the rehearsal dinner. It’s a matter of professionalism. It’s also a matter of making sure that he gets paid what he’s owed, with no sex scandal interfering.

If he had a second rule, it would be _no sex scandals._

The rule was never all that hard to follow, because weddings tend to bring out the worst in people, and he’s immune to the wedding terror that makes you want to hook up with the next person you see. The only problem came with the introduction of Matthew Michael Murdock, handsomest boy in the city and professional costumed weirdo with a smile that could knock a guy out if he wasn’t careful with it.

Foggy knew from the second he saw that smile that he was in big trouble.

*

“ _Danny Rand_?” Karen asks. They’re at their weekly coffee not-date, splitting a piece of crumb cake between them.

“The one and only,” Foggy says.

“Do you know how much money he’s got?” she asks.

“A lot,” Foggy says, smiling.

“A _lot_ ,” Karen echoes. “No offense, but how the hell did you get this gig?”

“No, I feel the same,” Foggy says, stabbing the last bit of cake and eating it. “Apparently Jessica Jones is friends with Trish Walker, who’s friends with the couple I did that wedding for back in February.”

“The ones who wanted sunflowers in the middle of winter?”

“And trained swans,” Foggy says, nodding. “Apparently the passable attempt at a wedding I made out of their incredibly poor taste was more impressive than I thought.”

“That’s amazing,” Karen says, kicking him gently under the table. “Can you imagine the kind of wedding you can make with money like that? Not to mention the _publicity._ I wonder if I could steal the article about it from the Lifestyle writers.”

“Hard-hitting expose about tulle and floral arrangements?” he asks.

“Well, I have the inside scoop,” she says. “Is there a seedy underbelly to the wedding industry?”

“Well, everything’s wildly overpriced,” he says, “but that won’t be a problem this time.”

“You could do everything in _pure gold_.”

“Maybe if it was a Trump wedding,” he says, snorting.

“Which would _definitely_ have a seedy underbelly,” she says, pointing a finger at him. “Seriously, though, I want an interview closer to the wedding. It would be fun to write some fluff.”

“You got it,” he says, finishing the rest of his coffee at once and getting to his feet. “Okay, gotta go talk to a superhero about a wedding. Wish me luck.”

“Luck,” she says, lifting her hand so he high-fives her as he passes.

*

Foggy kind of expected that he’d meet the happy couple at Rand Towers, but he’s actually directed to the Chikaro Dojo—run by the soon-to-be bride. He’s heard stories about Colleen Wing as well as Rand, the kind of things that get gossiped about loudly around the neighborhood since the Defenders stepped up so Daredevil wasn’t working alone anymore.

Whoa, he might get to meet _Daredevil._

The door’s open when he arrives, so he knocks on the frame, smiling when four heads turn around at the same time. He recognizes Colleen and Danny, who jumps to his feet with a grin and says, “Foggy?”

“Yes,” Foggy says, reaching out a hand. Danny’s handshake is enthusiastic and arguably a little too strong, but Foggy feels very welcome, continuing, “Great to meet you, Mr. Rand. I was honored to get your call.”

“Mr. Rand was his father,” another woman says, dryly.

“Danny’s fine,” Danny says, “and this is my fiance—Colleen.”

“If you call me _Mrs_. Rand, we may have to fight,” Colleen says, smiling and stepping up behind Danny. Equally firm handshake but controlled.

“I wouldn’t dream of trying to fight you,” Foggy says. “I’m a lover—and, also, _incredibly_ weak. Basically a kitten. Is this—the wedding party?”

He turns to the other two people in the room, and Colleen says, “Claire’s my Maid of Honor. Matt’s a groomsman.”

Matt raises his head and smiles and that’s— _he’s—holy shit._

Foggy Nelson has one rule.

*

After he asks who he’ll be working with, things start to fall apart.

Colleen is too busy teaching and not particularly caring about the wedding details to be involved, and she says that she doesn’t trust Danny’s taste enough to let him do it, with echoed agreements from Claire and Matt and a hurt look from Danny.

“No dragons,” Colleen says, raising her eyebrows at him.

“No dragons,” he repeats, sullenly.

Foggy turns to Claire and she shakes her head and simply says, “Nope. I’ve got a full time job and an additional full time night job. And I also don’t want to.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “That leaves. . .”

Slowly, they all turn to look at Matt, who takes a moment to realize what’s happening. His mouth drops open.

“. . .wait, seriously?”

“You have good instincts,” Colleen says. Claire laughs, abrupt and loud, then pulls it together quickly.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, clearly attempting to keep a straight face. “The best.”

“My instincts are fine,” Matt says, kind of pouting at her—which is so appealing that Foggy has to literally avert his gaze.

“Then you should have no problem helping plan the wedding,” Claire says, smirking.

Matt glares for a moment before he sighs, loudly; Foggy’s pretty sure that Claire must best him pretty frequently, because he doesn’t seem surprised.

“I, uhm—” Foggy starts, fumbling automatically when Matt turns towards him instead. “I’ll do the brunt of the work, if that’s okay with everyone. I just need someone to yes or no. Even a—vague nod will work.”

“You know, you have a best man,” Matt says, to Danny.

“You’ll notice that he was smart enough to not show up,” Claire says.

Matt sighs again before he tilts his chin towards Foggy, smiles kind of hesitantly, and says, “I’m not sure I’ll be much help with the small details,” waving lazily at his glasses.

“You’d be surprised, dude,” Foggy says, genuinely, already telling himself to remember to scope out a braille printer he could use. “Weddings are made on about 90% feelings, and sight is just one part of that. I bet you’ll do fine.”

“What’s the other 10%?” Matt asks, sounding charmed.

“Absurdly expensive pretty things,” he says, smiling when he gets a laugh from the whole room. Foggy nods at Danny. “You know, if I hadn’t once literally ran into Tony Stark on the street, you’d be the richest guy I’ve ever met. Do you have a budget maximum?”

“Whatever you need,” Danny says, shrugging. Colleen looks like she might say something then huffs out a laugh, nodding her agreement.

Foggy feels very powerful all of a sudden.

“Matt,” he says. “We’re going to have a lot of fun.”

They make a plan to meet Friday afternoon to talk about general details. Matt’s supposed to bring a list with anything Danny and Colleen absolutely want and absolutely don’t want.

He really needs something more than _no dragons_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WAS GOING TO SPACE THESE OUT SO I COULD FINISH WRITING IT BUT WHATEVER HAVE ANOTHER CHAPTER

Matt’s wearing a well-fitted black suit when he shows up at the coffee shop that Foggy suggested—jacket hung over his arm, sleeves pushed up to elbows, tie loosened. Foggy wasn’t aware that he was this sexually frustrated, but the way Matt dimples at him when he calls him over is almost too much for him to handle. He needs to take Marci’s offer to hook him up with a rich hot lawyer more seriously.

“Hi,” Matt says.

“You look nice,” Foggy says, which is not how he normally greets people that he barely knows. He winces and Matt falters for a moment before his smile’s back full force.

“Thanks, I’m still in work clothes,” he says.

“What do you do?”

“Uh, I’m a lawyer,” Matt says.

Hot lawyer. Rich, hot lawyer?

“Do you know Marci Stahl?” Foggy asks, before he can help himself.

“Yeah, actually,” Matt says, laughing. “We went to school together, almost worked together. How do you know Marci?”

“Oh, I planned her wedding,” Foggy says. “Which turned out to be some type of open relationship power merger, so we also had a thing before she decided that she was actually in love with her husband. Oh, _wow_ , that’s probably more than I should tell you. You can’t use that against her, can you, law-wise?”

“I’m a somewhat struggling defense attorney,” Matt says. “I rarely deal with anyone as highbrow as Marci Stahl. And even then—I try not to play dirty unless necessary.”

Dirty is basically the only word that Foggy heard out of that sentence, so he just smiles and nods and says, “Okay, cool. Can I get you a coffee? Your friend’s paying me an absurd amount of money, it’s on him.”

After Matt asks for black coffee, Foggy goes to the counter and orders it, glancing back to see Matt sitting down. He’s getting these terrible first date feelings, like he needs to perform as charmingly as possible to try to get a kiss at the end of the night. No kisses, though. No nights.

“I got the lists you wanted,” Matt says, when Foggy settles in front of him again. He slides over two hand-written lists, the words YES PLEASE and then PLEASE NO written on the top. The yeses basically spell out them wanting clean and simple. The no’s are dragons and red roses and anything too elaborate.

No trained swans for them, then.

“This gives me a lot of room to work with,” he says. “What do you think about them?”

“I think they want a nice, easy wedding where nothing terrible happens,” Matt says, after giving it a little thought.

“Nothing terrible— _oh_ , like super villains. Magic stuff. Aliens falling from the sky,” Foggy says, nodding. “They have a different version of _terrible_ than we do, don’t they?”

Matt pauses for a moment before he agrees, and that’s when Foggy realizes what he’s said. We do, as in normal civilians. But Matt’s one of Danny Rand’s groomsmen, and he’s definitely not Luke Cage or Jessica Jones and he—he’s completely _ripped._

Of course, he’s also blind. But he’s friends with a guy with a glowing fist, which is way more implausible—there’s no law saying that somebody’s gotta have working eyes to fight crime.

“Okay, I’m going to ask you something,” he says, lowering his voice, “and feel free to laugh it off. Are you Daredevil?”

Matt looks _shocked_ right off the bat, almost knocking his coffee off the table before he laughs in a way that’s obviously fake. If Foggy weren’t suddenly so sure that he was Daredevil, he’d say that there’s no way this man could keep up a secret identity.

“How could _I_ be Daredevil?” Matt asks.

“Sorry,” Foggy says, sure that he can hear the smile that he’s trying to hide. “You’re totally not Daredevil at all.”

“I’m not,” Matt says, seriously

“You’ve neither dared nor devilled,” Foggy says, nodding. “I get it.”

Matt frowns at him.

“Just to clarify,” he says. “I’m absolutely not Daredevil.”

“Well, now I don’t know, man,” Foggy says, because he can’t help himself, “because that kind of sounds like something Daredevil would say.”

Matt huffs and Foggy’s—got a big damn crush on him. One day in. He’s an idiot.

“I’ll keep your secret,” he says, warmly. “C’mon, let’s talk themes.”

*

Foggy convinces Marci to skip her morning workout routine and join Karen and him for coffee, because he loves her company and because he wants to know as much about Matt Murdock as he possibly can. Hopefully something damning, like he murders kittens in his spare time or protest voted for Jill Stein, something that might kill his boner a little.

“I mean, he’s kind of a dick,” Marci says, shrugging, “but that’s pretty much the worst that you can say about him. Otherwise, he’s smart and obnoxiously pretty and seems like he’s sometimes a nice guy. And loves Jesus, if you’re into that.”

“Oh, god,” Foggy says, faintly.

“I mean, he might be kind of a womanizer,” Marci says, “but a lot of people are slutty in law school. We have to remember how to feel and sex is easier than, like, a fight club.”

“So—just womanizing?” Foggy asks. “No—man. . .inizing?”

“. . .Christ, you want to fuck him, don’t you?” Marci asks, and Karen snorts, grinning at her.

“It’s all I heard about before you came,” she says, then, in a high-pitched voice, “Matt’s so dreamy, Matt’s hair looks like he just got out of bed but in a sexy way, Matt’s probably strong enough to pick me up in his arms and carry me off into the sunset.”

Foggy scowls at her.

“I only said the hair one,” he mutters, hiding his blush in his coffee cup.

“Doesn’t that break your _one rule_?” Marci asks, using extremely sarcastic air quotes. “Don’t fuck anyone involved with the wedding?”

“Well, it’s _fall for_ ,” Foggy says, “but yeah, basically. That’s why I wanted to know more about him, though, because I wanted you to tell me that he’s a puppy kicking, littering monster. Who’s very straight. You never clarified that.”

“I did not exactly keep tabs on Murdock’s love life,” Marci says, delicately sipping her red eye.

“. . .but?” Foggy asks. He’s pretty there’s a but.

“He made out with a guy at a party in my dorm,” she says, smiling, “so he’s at the very least gayer when he’s drunk.”

“Aren’t we all,” Foggy says, smiling before he can’t help himself, groaning, tipping his head back and shutting his eyes. “I’m screwed.”

“It’s a stupid rule,” Karen says.

“It’s preceded by a series of stupid decisions when I was younger and less worldly,” Foggy says, more seriously. “I want to be a professional. And professionals can put aside their. . .”

“Great big schoolgirl crushes?” Karen offers.

“Yes,” Foggy says, with dignity. “That.”

Marci throws back the rest of her coffee at once and crushes the cup in her perfectly manicured hands. If Foggy could have just an _ounce_ of the confidence she’s got, he’d be set for life. He’d have a TV show. He’d be David _fucking_ Tutera.

“I say fuck him,” she says. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I get fired from planning a billionaire who gave me no budget limit’s wedding,” Foggy says, flatly. “A billionaire who paid quadruple my rate because he thought I seemed, and I quote, ‘like a nice dude.’”

“. . .oh, good point,” Marci says, making a face before she shrugs. “Well, I’ve got to go. Good luck with your morality.”

“Thanks for the wisdom!” he calls after her as she leaves with an echo of clicking high heels, earning him a few glares from patrons who are obviously less awake than he is. Karen smiles at him sadly.

“Maybe after the wedding’s over?” she asks.

“You haven’t seen his ass, someone else’ll have snatched him up by then,” Foggy says, darkly. Or he’ll have died in some tragic superhero accident. Foggy’s pretty sure Daredevil’s already died at least once, and the neighborhood just kind of rolled with it when he showed back up again. “I’ll just suffer. And quietly objectify him in my head.”

Karen pats his arm consolingly.

“Sometimes that’s all you can do,” she says, clearly amused by his pain.

*

Matt shows up to their next meeting with two cups of hot coffee and a black eye.

He offers a cup to coffee, who accepts it and says, “You don’t have to buy me things. Do you remember what my budget is?”

“Insane?” Matt says, grinning. “It was on my way. Did you know this was my church?”

They’re standing on the steps of the closest cathedral to where Matt lives, because Foggy didn’t want to make him go out of his way. He didn’t know, though, but now a few things are starting to make sense.

“I did not,” he says. “Man—the whole devil thing seems kind of on the nose, don’t you think?”

Matt’s face gets tight for a second before he rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, calmly, tapping his cane against the next step before he walks up them, leaving Foggy behind for a moment while he shamelessly watches him.

“Of course,” Foggy says, after a long moment, catching up as Matt’s opening the door for him, gesturing him in with a somewhat dry look. “So—Catholic, huh? Practicing?”

“Every Sunday.”

Foggy takes a few steps inside, turning around to see that Matt’s pulling the door closed carefully, so it doesn’t make any noise.

“How’s that working out for you?” he asks.

“The Catholicism? Uh—decently, I guess,” Matt says, shrugging. “It’s nice to have. . .accountability.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” a voice behind them asks, and Foggy sees Matt grin before he turns around to see a priest who gives him a warm, appraising look and offers a hand. “Father Lantom.”

“Foggy Nelson,” Foggy says, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Father.”

“Are you recruiting for our cause, Matthew?” Father Lantom asks.

“No, sorry,” Matt says, running fingers through his hair, which makes Foggy sigh involuntarily. “We’re actually scouting out wedding venues.”

Father Lantom looks surprised.

“I didn’t realize you had a partner,” he says, sounding genuine when he continues, “I’m very happy to hear it.”

“ _Oh_ , no,” Foggy says.

It takes Matt a moment later but he turns pink and says, “Not—not _our_ wedding. We aren’t—wedding. Each other.”

“Two of his friends are wedding each other,” Foggy says, trying hard not to laugh at Matt and mostly failing. Father Lantom doesn’t try at all. “I’m their wedding planner, Matt got stuck working with me.”

“Do these friends want a Catholic ceremony?”

“No,” Foggy says. “Actually, if I’m being honest, I normally bring people to an intimidating cathedral to start with and then we sort of work our way down to something they actually want. It’s a nice baseline.”

Father Lantom laughs again, loud enough that it almost echoes and earns them a few looks from people with previously bowed heads. Foggy grins back. He hasn’t spoken to a priest since—middle school, probably, whenever his parents decided it was okay for him to decide how he spent his Sundays and Foggy decided to worship at the church of sleeping as late as he possibly could. He’s pretty sure they wouldn’t have laughed at that, though.

“You seem like you know what you’re doing,” Father Lantom says, walking past and patting Matt on the shoulder lightly as he keeps walking, “If you ever do decide to wed him, Matthew, I’d be happy to officiate. I’ll see you Sunday.”

Matt covers his face with his hand for a long moment.

“I’m sorry about him,” he says, muffled, before he takes it away. He looks ruffled and embarrassed and Foggy wants to hug him. And marry him. Oh god.

“Don’t be,” he says, deciding not to tease too much. Matt might be so flustered about that joke because he definitely doesn’t want something like that, so it’s probably better to leave it alone. “Come on, let’s go have a seat and talk. It looks like we have the place to ourselves.”

They settle down in a pew, a few inches away so they’re not quite touching when they turn towards each other.

“So, I think we can go ahead and mark a church wedding off the list,” Foggy says. “What do you think about an outdoor one? A park, maybe? Or something upstate? I’m down for most things as long as you don’t make me step foot in a barn.”

“Nothing rustic?” Matt asks.

“No burlap,” Foggy says, darkly. “No mason jars.”

Matt nods sagely.

“Got it,” he says, then pulls a face. “Can I—ask a dumb question?”

“No such thing,” Foggy says. “Well—actually, there’s such a thing, but I doubt you’d have one.”

“What if they had it at the dojo?” Matt asks. “The guest list is going to be pretty small and—I think Colleen would like it. Which means Danny would, too.”

Foggy thinks about it for a long moment before he grins.

“Shit, I love that,” he says, moving to kick Matt’s ankle gently. “It’s _fun_. We’ll just have to keep plus ones in mind, because of the space, but your hero clique seems—kind of incestuous.”

“Basically,” Matt says, dryly.

“Do you—uhm,” Foggy starts, then coughs, clearing his throat. “Do _you_ have a plus one?”

It will help. It will definitely help his crush, because Matt’s maybe super religious and mostly straight and probably has a beautiful girlfriend who can maybe— _fly_ or something. Heat vision.

“Not yet,” Matt says, smiling.

Foggy gapes at him.

“Oh,” he says. “Okay, well, keep me updated for—for the guest list. Should I go call them and see what they think abut the venue? Yeah, I’m going to go do that.”

*

Foggy steps outside to call them and isn’t surprised that Danny and Colleen love it—especially Colleen, who sounds relieved when Foggy talks about the benefits of having a smaller wedding.

“There’s only a few people I want there, anyway,” she says. “I’m not sure how pretty you can make it, though.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Foggy says. “I’m good at pretty. Just keep thinking about what kind of dress you might want so you don’t get blind-sided by the sea of white tulle when we go next week.”

“Ugh,” she says, softly. “Tulle.”

“I’ll take that as a note,” he says, laughing.

He’s about to go back inside when he gets a text from Matt apologizing and saying that something came up. He sighs and texts back, “Good luck fighting crime.”

*  

“I’m _really_ not sure why I’m here for this,” Matt says, but he doesn’t sound upset, dropping down into a seat in front of the wall of mirrors and aiming a smile in Foggy’s direction. He’s got this tousled, sleepy look that is working too well for him, clutching a hot cup of coffee they got from a stand on the way.

“You’re a crucial part of the decision-making process, my man,” Foggy says, clapping him lightly on the shoulder as he passes by and resisting the urge to whimper when Matt tips his head back and smiles wider.

“If you say so,” he says, happily.

Colleen sits down on the edge of the short platform in front of the mirrors and sighs. She’s wearing leggings and a sweatshirt that’s got to be Danny’s, a little ragged and way too big on her. Her coffee is about three times as large as Matt’s.

“I’m actually excited about looking like a princess,” she says, “but it’s 6:00 AM and I hate you.”

“Nobody’s here because I got them to let us in early,” Foggy says, already browsing through the racks. “You don’t want to shop surrounded by other brides, you’ll get distracted from finding what you actually want.”

“What do I actually want?” she asks, stretching her legs out in front of her, bending forward to touch her toes.

“I can’t answer that,” Foggy says, pulling a mermaid cut dress off the rack and making a face. “You probably want something that allows you to move your legs freely, right?”

Colleen snorts.

“I do like being able to walk,” she says.

“We’ll talk about heels later,” he says, grinning at her. “I’ll pull some options, we’ll go from there.”

“And I’ll be right here,” Matt says, yawning. “For moral support.”

“I’ll let you feel me up later to see if you like the fit,” Colleen says.

“Col _leen_ ,” Matt says, managing to gasp dryly, slumping down further in his seat and looking pleased with himself when she laughs and lies down on the floor. She starts stretching—Foggy’s pretty sure that she doesn’t care about being awake this early so much as having her morning routine disrupted.

A few minutes into picking out dresses, he glances over to see that Colleen’s recruited Matt to do yoga with her and has to spend the rest of the time trying intently not to get distracted by Matt’s ass in the air.

*

“I feel like a—cloud,” Colleen says, holding her arms out and swaying a little. He picked a poofy one on purpose, to see if it would unlock something flouncy inside of her, but he didn’t really anticipate it happening.

“A beautiful cloud?” he asks.

“A _heavy_ cloud,” she says. “Let’s try something that doesn’t involve petticoats, maybe?”

“How do you feel about a train?”

“Unless you’ve got cartoon woodland creatures to carry it,” she says, making a face, “then I’ll pass. I like that lace one you’re holding, though.”

“I have a really good feeling about it, actually,” Foggy says, “so I need you to try on a few more before I let you have it. See what your options are first.”

“You have, like, a whole theory, don’t you?” Matt asks, curiously. He’d been on his laptop working, but apparently listening to this process was more interesting, because he’s abandoned it on the floor and is sitting facing Foggy with his legs hooked over the arm of the chair.

“Some people think wedding planning is just picking out colors and tasting cakes,” Foggy says, “but it’s—about giving people something _perfect_ , you know? Or something that feels perfect when they look back on it. And perfect takes theory.”

“We do get to taste cakes, though, right?” Colleen asks, from the dressing room, over the sound of silk swishing erratically as she shimmies out of her dress.

“And signature cocktails,” Foggy says, opening the door enough to take the dress from her and pass her the next one, a champagne colored A-line gown with elaborate beading. “I’m going to use your fiance’s credit card to buy extravagant booze and a hot bartender and we’re all going to get drunk together.”

“Huh, getting married is more fun than I thought it’d be,” she says.

“Tell your friends,” Foggy says.

When he turns back, Matt’s head is raised in his direction, and his curious look quickly turns to a smile when he realizes that Foggy’s looking back.

“You don’t have to stay if you’ve got important legal things to be doing,” Foggy says, hesitantly. “Or, you know—”

“Don’t say crime fighting,” Matt says.

“Or—a cycling class,” Foggy amends, “which is, I _assume_ , why your ass looks like that.”

Matt tries not to look pleased but he’s obviously pleased. And if that’s what he looks like when Foggy openly objectifies him, Foggy’s going to have to be biting his tongue _a lot_. And he’s so _bad_ at it.

“I guess I’ll stick around,” Matt says, airily.

The dress Foggy was saving—delicate ivory lace all over, long enough to hit the floor and settle around her feet but with a subtle slit up the side so, in the apparently less than unlikely event that something goes wrong, she could hike it up and kick someone’s ass—is the one that makes Colleen’s face light up.

“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised, doing a half spin in place to see it move around her.

“That’s it,” Matt says. They both turn to look at him.

“How do you know?” Foggy asks, curiously.

Colleen seems to already know the answer, because she just raises her eyebrows and doesn’t say anything, but Matt hedges for a moment before he says, “You can hear it in her voice. I mean, just—from that one word. You can tell.”

“He’s not wrong,” Colleen says. She smooths cautious hands down the front of her dress. For not being tailored, it already fits her beautifully—sleeveless, with a tight bodice that moves into a simple skirt, classy as _hell_.

She also can’t stop smiling.

“Do you love that dress or are you just ready to stop trying them on?” Foggy asks.

“Both,” she says, laughing. “I’m getting _married_.”

“Does this mean you’re going to be the one picking out centerpieces now?” Matt asks.

“Absolutely not,” she says, in exactly the same happy tone of voice, and Matt sighs—but if Foggy knows people, and that’s kind of his whole job, Matt actually seems happy, too.

*

Danny and Colleen’s ideal timeline was simply ASAP, which Foggy can work with. He’s got all kinds of contacts and basically no personal life, which means he can plan a gorgeous wedding within a few months.

Now that Matt’s involved, though, he kinds of wants to stretch it out.

“Would being in a room full of, like, a fuckton of flowers be too much for you?” Foggy asks. They’re having breakfast together before they’re supposed to start picking out flowers, sitting outside a cafe a few blocks away from his friend’s flower shop.

“I wouldn’t love it,” Matt admits, shrugging, “but I can deal.”

“That’s sweet,” Foggy says, “but I think I might run down there and just bring back some cuts. I don’t have the best nose, so it would be good if you could help me figure out what works together, since it’ll be in such a small room.”

“They’ll just let you take flowers?” Matt asks.

“Only if they’re your ex,” Foggy says, “and they owe you a life debt for being shitty.”

Louis is actually a good guy and an amazing florist, but he was in a bad place when Foggy hooked up with him. There was a whole adultery, broken heart thing that ended their relationship pretty quickly, but he got back to Foggy on his worldwide apology tour and they became friends again.

And then Foggy guilted him into a lifetime of flower deals, but he knew what he was getting into when he screwed over a wedding planner.

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Matt says, raising his eyebrows.

“A short and sad one,” Foggy says. “He’s an okay guy, though, now that he’s dealt with some issues.”

“Oh,” Matt says, looking surprised.

“What?”

“Uhm, nothing,” Matt says, shaking his head. “You mentioned Marci before and I—I just wasn’t sure that you dated guys.”

“Matthew, considering my profession, you are the first person in the world to think that I might be straight,” Foggy says, laughing even while his brain’s going _maybe he’s homophobic, that would suck but also I probably wouldn’t want to make out with him anymore. Maybe. Hopefully._ “Is that—a problem for you?”

“No,” Matt says, quickly. “Definitely not. The opposite, really.”

That could mean anything. That doesn’t necessarily mean—what Foggy thinks it means.

“So,” Matt says, moving uncomfortably in his seat before he sits up straight, obviously blushing, “You were going to get flowers?”

“Right,” Foggy says, standing up. “Stay here and get more coffee—I’ll be back in a bit.”

His running thought process as he walks up the street is split between color schemes, possible bouquets, and the fact that he’s _absolutely_ going to break his rule if Matt makes the first move. Which—seems like it might actually _happen_.

Foggy just has to hold him off until Danny and Colleen say _I do_ and then everything will be fine.

Better than fine.

**Author's Note:**

> this was werelibrarian's idea to distract me from maid of honor hell for a friend's wedding back in September 
> 
>  
> 
> [I am on Tumblr](http://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns)


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